


catch a falling star and put it in your pocket (never let it fade away)

by naasad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anorexia, Business Trip, Depression, Eating Disorders, Feels, Fluff, Kissing, Love Letters, M/M, Sushi, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naasad/pseuds/naasad
Summary: Combeferre never really thought of himself assquishybefore, but Enjolras isn't exactly in the habit of saying anything meaninglessly. Still, being squishy isn't a bad thing.





	catch a falling star and put it in your pocket (never let it fade away)

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy, heavy, trigger warnings, read at your own risk. Combeferre's thought processes are not healthy at all. Everything is in the tags, though, I've done my best to make sure there are no surprises.
> 
> CAPA stands for _Certificat d'aptitude à la profession d'avocat_ , the certificate you get in France after you pass your bar exam.

Courf tapped his fork against his bottle, shouting to be heard over the din of the party. “Alright, alright, alright, settle down, folks.”

Les Amis trailed off into silence, giving their center a captive audience.

Courf grinned. “I’ve known Enjolras since we were kids. We were in Kindergarten, he was crying on the playground, and I asked him why. He said there were two reasons. The first was a crow just ate a worm right in front of him – ʺ the crowd laughed “ – and the second was because he swore he was never going to be able to finish school because he missed a day of work while on vacation. But!” He raised his voice to an excited shout. “Guess who just got their CAPA?!”

In the face of thunderous applause, Enjolras blushed and raised his glass, leaning back into Combeferre’s chest.

Courfeyrac nodded. “Embarrassing childhood stories aside, it will look very good next to your Doctorate of Political Science, I’m sure your lovely boyfriend has it framed already, and just think how inferior people will feel any time they walk into your living room. But, unfortunately, we’re not just here to celebrate yet another of our illustrious leader’s achievements, because, for the next three months, Enjolras is headed all the way across the world to Japan to intern at a freaking embassy!” He raised his glass higher. “My best friend for the past twenty-three years, leaving us all behind to change the world. Godspeed. To Enjolras!”

“To Enjolras!” the room roared.

Enjolras drank, then turned to Combeferre. “Take me home.”

When they reached their apartment, there was a package waiting by the door. Ferre grinned and picked it up, bringing it inside. “Courf was wrong, I don’t already have it framed, I was waiting for this to arrive.” He pulled out a beautiful dark frame, quickly pressed the certificate inside, then hung it on the wall, next to Enjolras’ PoliSci degree, and beneath his own diplomas in Medicine, Psychology, and Neuroscience. He stepped back to watch the display, wrapping an arm around Enjolras’ waist. “There,” he said, smiling at the wall before leaning down to kiss his boyfriend.

Enjolras sighed contentedly and leaned his head on Ferre’s shoulder. “I don’t want to go.”

Combeferre kissed the top of his head. “It’ll be worth it.” He smirked and started walking backward to the bedroom. “Besides, think of all the things we can do when you get back.”

“Oh?” Enjolras asked, following curiously.

They spent the next several hours worshipping each other’s bodies, kissing and stroking and memorizing. When they both were sated but exhausted, Enjolras tucked his cold nose under Ferre’s jaw and kissed his throat one last time. He put a hand on his belly and let out a huff of air, warm against his skin, mumbling sleepily but happily. “Squish.”

Ferre chuckled and pulled him even closer.

In the morning, he’d be gone before he woke up.

Two weeks later, he viciously stabbed his salad, complaining to Courfeyrac. “I get that he’s busy, but we rarely text, and the last three times we scheduled a Skype date, he blew me off.”

“Maybe he wants to save money,” Courf deadpanned, he’d grown sick of the conversation two discussions ago. “Maybe you need to schedule things out farther. Maybe he just doesn’t want to see your face.” He yawned and brought his fifth cup of coffee up to his lips.

Combeferre froze. _“Squish,”_ Enjolras had said. He scowled and pushed away his salad – just for the moment.

“I’ve gotta go to bed,” Courfeyrac said, setting down his empty cup. “I tried to stay up all day yesterday to hang out with Jehan, but this new job has got me stuck on the graveyard clock already, so I haven’t slept in almost two days now.”

Ferre nodded. “Go home. I’ll take care of the bill.”

Courfeyrac stood, swaying for a moment, and wrapped his arms around his friend’s neck. “You’re a good one.”

Ferre squeezed his arm. “Thanks, you, too. Do you want a ride home?”

Courf waved his hand. “I’ll text my datemate.”

Combeferre kissed his cheek as he left. By the time he’d paid and walked out of the building, Courfeyrac was gone. He sighed and drove home, making a beeline for the bathroom mirror once he got in the door. He tugged his shirt over his head and stood at different angles, observing his silhouette.

Objectively, he knew he was attractive. Subjectively… well, his boyfriend was a god among men, so there was that.

He put a hand over his stomach and chewed his lip for a moment, debating the benefits of trying to lose a bit of weight versus the potential costs. He shook his head. No, he was healthy, he didn’t need to do anything.

But… if it really did bother Enjolras that much – _“Squish”_ – then maybe it could be a nice surprise for when he got home.

He thought hard and stepped on the scale, reviewing his weight charts in his head. At 103.8 kilograms, he was on the high end of the healthy range for his height, after all. Losing just a bit less than a quarter kilo would probably get rid of any unwanted flab, and it couldn’t possibly hurt.

He sat down with a piece of paper and started outlining some extra exercises he could try, a few more processed foods that could be cut out. When he was finished, he nodded to himself and pinned it to the fridge with a magnet. This would be good.

Another week later, it was decidedly not good. They’d been sitting in the Musain after a meeting when Courfeyrac started ranting about beauty standards.

Grantaire nodded in agreement. “And there’s no consistency, either. I was helping an artist a year below me figure out this program she was working on, so I was looking at healthy weight ranges. We picked a height at random – 1.9 meters,” he nodded to Combeferre, “to start – and even when it was sorted by frame, you could find anything from… 68-93 kilos was the lowest and 77-104 was the highest, I think. We averaged everything we found to use, and eventually came out with 73-89, but that is extremely narrow for all the body types you can find.”

Combeferre spat out his drink. “What?”

Grantaire nodded, taking it as agreement. “It’s ridiculous.”

Ferre swallowed back bile and excused himself to the restroom. Sixteen – nearly 16 kilograms overweight. He stared in the mirror, trying to wrap his mind around it. Grantaire’s sources were always trustworthy. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He had eleven weeks before Enjolras returned, losing sixteen kilos in that amount of time? He gritted his teeth, reminding himself of everything he’d learned in order to get his degrees.

Calories are just a measure of energy. You need calories to live.

Fat protects your organs and keeps your brain running, and when food is in low supply, fat keeps you alive longer. You need fat to live.

Carbohydrates give you glucose, which is necessary for a healthy circulatory system. You need carbs to live.

Dieting by restriction from certain foods or nutrients – especially dieting to conform to beauty standards – is addictive. Some individuals never recover completely, or worse, they end up dead because of it. But he had no history of eating disorders and no intention of gaining one, thank you very much.

Fuck it, he decided. This was an emergency.

He started drafting a plan.

The first thing he did was calculate the maximum amount of food he could eat per day in order to reach his target in time. It was… not a lot. He frowned at the number, wondering how anyone could live like that, then stared at his fridge, calculating the contents using every scrap he could remember from Nutrition classes. Well, other people managed it, he was sure he could as well.

Drink water, lots of blogs recommended. Unsweetened tea was good as well, as long as it was moderated.

Eat foods that expand in the stomach, breads and such.

Eat slowly, give your stomach and your brain time to talk to each other and decide when enough is enough.

Contrary to everything he’d read, he didn’t get fatigued at all, instead, he got jittery. He reassessed his calculations, decided to spend some more time in the gym with Bahorel, but also decided not to up his calorie intake to match, just in case.

Anyway, now that he’d met people eating only 600 calories a day – even though it made him wince and want to write them referrals, it still made him feel like a pig at 1500. He’d be fine.

And he was for the most part. He wasn’t up to his usual standards, but Baz didn’t know that, so he let him be, thinking he was just inexperienced. He didn’t bother to correct him, despite the fact his one marathon ribbon hung right in the living room – in a case just to the left of his and Enjolras’ degrees.

Enjolras had so many Savate trophies in that case, though, the ribbon was easily overlooked.

Ferre smiled at the memory of his boyfriend and Grantaire comparing their achievements and his heart ached for him. They still hadn’t made their Skype date. He shook his head, took a drink of water, and threw himself back into his workout.

He could have Enjolras back when he deserved him.

He found himself spacing out during meetings, snacking on something every once in a while, just to keep his metabolism going. The others exchanged looks, smiling and making comments about “attached at the hip” and “absence makes the heart grow fonder”.

“Did he tell you?” Courf asked, jumping up and down in excitement.

Combeferre laughed and held him still. “Did who tell me what?”

Courf grinned. “I got an email from Enj today! He’s coming back a week early!”

Combeferre’s face fell, staring down at his cucumber and pushing it away.

“He didn’t tell you?” Courf asked.

Ferre shook his head. “I haven’t talked to him in two months.” That was only half the problem, though. He still had three kilos left to his target. Three kilos in two weeks was doable but in just one? He flopped back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, and resigned himself to failure.

Courfeyrac made an outraged squeak. “He can’t do that to you! I’m his best friend, but you’re his _Best Friend and his boyfriend._ I’ll talk to him about it.”

“It’s okay,” Ferre said, smiling weakly – no, fatigued-ly, he should probably take a nap soon. “He probably just forgot and only told you because it was attached to something ABC related. You know how he gets when he’s busy and in the zone.”

Courf shook his head. “It’s still not okay.”

Ferre just shrugged.

One week later, he met Enjolras at the airport, wringing his hands, desperately hoping for… he didn’t know what he was hoping for.

Enjolras came barreling out of the crowd, suitcases nearly flying behind him. “Ferre!” he shouted gleefully, wrapping his arms around him.

Combeferre moved to embrace him, but before he could, Enjolras was stepping back, looking confused.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

Ferre shrugged and picked up a suitcase. “Trying something new. Come on.”

Enjolras followed half a step behind. “An experiment?”

Combeferre chuckled. “Something like that.”

When they arrived home, Enjolras immediately moved to the refrigerator, scowling at the first plan Ferre had drafted. “Were you having health problems?”

“What?” Ferre called from the bedroom where he was already unpacking.

Enjolras filled two glasses with milk and walked into the room. “Are you okay?”

Ferre laughed and took the glasses from him before tackling him onto the mattress and kissing him deeply. “I’m fine, now,” he murmured, staring straight into his eyes.

Enjolras tugged a hand through his hair, smiling at the little breaths he made. “Good.”

When they went to bed for real, much later, he passed his knuckles over his ribs, letting his fingers fall into the spaces between. He turned over, looking away, seemingly disappointed. No, more than that, crushed.

Combeferre felt his breath catch in his chest. It wasn’t enough. He turned over and laid his arm over Enj’s chest. “I’ll do better,” he promised.

Enjolras ducked his head and smiled against his arm. “I’m glad,” he murmured.

Ferre started on a new plan.

Two months later, he knew he needed to stop. He was exhausted all the time, shaking and nauseous from low blood sugar. But the looks Enjolras kept sending him… disappointed, maybe angry, possibly revulsed…. It still wasn’t enough.

It all came to a head in the middle of a meeting. Ferre set himself up with his cucumbers and his water, all ready to watch Enjolras in the middle of his element for the first time since he’d gotten back, only for his boyfriend to come storming up to him when he noticed his food. “I thought you promised you’d do better,” he spat.

“Enjolras,” Courf said, taken aback.

Ferre slowly put his snack back in his bag. “It’s okay, Courf. I did promise him.” He tried to smile.

Enjolras threw his hands in the air and shouted so loud everyone flinched back. He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac snapped.

Enjolras held up a stern finger, then turned to Ferre, breathing carefully measured. “Can we talk in private?”

Combeferre nodded, following him warily into the alley behind the building.

Enjolras sighed and clasped his hands together, pacing. After a few long minutes, he finally stopped. “I think there’s a miscommunication here. Because every time I ask you to do better, you either do worse or absolutely nothing changes.”

“I’m sorry,” Ferre gasped, pressing his sleeves to his eyes against unwanted tears. “I’m sorry, just I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Enjolras made a broken noise and tugged him close. “I never should have left,” he said. “I never should have left. Tell me why. Please tell me why.”

“I’m sorry,” Ferre wept. “I’m sorry, it just hurts.”

“Why?” Enjolras buried his face in his shoulder, crying. “You were happy and healthy last time I saw you. I love you always, but especially when you’re happy and healthy. And then I come back, and you don’t look healthy, and you’re definitely not happy. Why? God, Ferre, you’re killing yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” Ferre gasped and pulled away, sliding down the dirty wall. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like seeing me like this. I shouldn’t be complaining. Starving children in Africa and all that.”

“Wait.” Enjolras crouched down and took his hands, massaging them. “Wait, Ferre. You think I want you like this?”

“Please don’t leave.”

“No. I won’t, not ever. Combeferre.” Enjolras tilted his head up to face him. “ _Sébastien._ Do you think I want you hurting yourself? Not eating and starving yourself?”

Ferre took great heaving gasps, suddenly unable to breathe.

Enjolras pivoted and leaned him forward as he retched, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Ferre shivered as his stomach emptied what little was in it.

“Ferre?” Enjolras murmured.

“You didn’t want to see me,” Ferre sobbed. “Too… too _squishy_. I wanted to surprise you. But you weren’t happy, it wasn’t enough.”

Enjolras tipped forward until his forehead rested on Combeferre’s shoulder. He took a deep breath, composing himself. “I’m not happy, because _you have anorexia_ , Ferre. I’m not happy because I realize now every single time I asked you to do better and eat more, you thought I was telling you to hurt yourself.”

Combeferre froze, then burst out into laughter – giggling, high, strangled, laugh-or-you-cry hysterical laughter that just went on and on and on. “I can’t stop,” he said.

Enjolras gripped his shoulder tight and helped him stand. “Not on your own, you can’t. Come on.”

They piled into the car, and Enjolras drove straight for the Asian Market, gripping Ferre’s one hand tight. (Ferre’s other hand was pressed against his mouth, suppressing either more laughter, more vomit, or both.)

“Stay here,” Enjolras murmured, stepping out of the car.

He returned fifteen minutes later with multiple bags of groceries. “Here.” He pressed a tube of crackers and a bottle of ginger ale into Ferre’s hand. “Nibble and sip, settle your stomach.”

Ferre made a face at eating before he managed to brush his teeth but did it anyway.

When they arrived in their apartment, Enjolras spared a single second to shoot a scalding glance at Ferre’s degrees framed on the wall, then beelined for the kitchen. “I’m making sushi.”

“I’ll be ready to dial 112,” Ferre muttered, heading to the bathroom.

“That won’t be necessary,” Enjolras called. “There’s very little cooking involved, and I managed to stop burning the rice after the seventy-third time.”

Ferre choked on his toothpaste laughing. When he was done, he settled at the island.

Enjolras looked up from his phone and poured him half a glass of chocolate milk. “Sip on that. Jehan tells me it’s the perfect balance of sugar, protein, and fat. You - ʺ

“Need all of those to live,” Combeferre finished, sipping slowly, ignoring the anxiety in the back of his mind as best he could.

Enjolras nodded. “I’m not going to force your hand, but I’m not a professional, and I would feel better if you talked to one about this.”

“I’m a professional.”

Enjolras glared at the joke. “And you’re not immune.”

Ferre swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see someone.”

Enjolras beamed.

He sniffed experimentally. “Is something burning?”

Enjolras cursed and moved the rice off the heat, starting in on the rest of the prep. “You don’t have to eat very much, it would probably overwhelm you, anyway. Sushi is designed to be eaten in small servings. But the rice, salmon, and avocado are good foods for healthy weight gain. It’s a good starting point until you and your therapist can come up with a better plan.” He glanced up at his boyfriend. “I’m eating, too.”

It was vaguely threatening, but Ferre let it wash over him and decided it was meant to be determined and comforting. “Thank you,” he murmured.

After he finished a small roll, and Enjolras cleaned his own plate and packed the leftovers into the fridge, they fell into bed, just cuddling.

“I wanted to see you,” Enjolras said suddenly.

Ferre looked up – it was a strange experience being the little spoon. “What?”

“I wanted to see you.” Enjolras stroked his arm and kissed him. “I missed you so much.” He sniffed and stood, rooting around in the closet for a small box Ferre had only seen once when he was putting everything away.

“What is it?” he asked, scooting up the bed until he was sitting.

Enjolras crawled to his side, giving him an incredulous look. “You didn’t open it?”

Ferre shrugged. “I thought it was locked for a reason.”

Enjolras smiled. “It’s not locked.” After some muffled grunts and cursing, he managed to pry it open. “It just sticks.” He handed the box over to Combeferre.

“Letters?”

Enjolras nodded. “Ninety-three letters, to be precise.”

Ferre bit his lip. “You came home five days early, so that’s how many days you were gone. You wrote me a letter every day?”

Enjolras smiled. “I’m horrible about keeping Skype dates, I think we’ve figured that out. I didn’t want to blow up our phone bill with international texting or calling fees. And I kept meaning to mail these, I swear it, but apparently, I’m horrible at that, too.”

Combeferre shook his head, rifling through the box until he found the earliest date – the day Enjolras had left.

“Hey.” Enjolras put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “I know this is going to be extremely hard for you – and for _us_ , as well. I’m with you every step of the way, even if I’m not literally right next to you.”

Combeferre just smiled and kissed him, not trusting himself to speak. Then he started reading.


End file.
